‘We’re what?’ Melitta asked. ‘Are you joking?’ She went from elated to angry in a heartbeat.
‘Running.’ Satyrus shrugged. ‘We’re merchants, Lita. We’re running. ’
He hated the looks on his sister’s face and on Xenophon’s.
‘This is Amastris’s noble warrior?’ Melitta asked him. ‘How will you tell this story to her? Eh, brother?’
‘Lita, mind your manners.’ Satyrus turned away, because Peleus was calling to him.
Melitta wouldn’t let up. She followed him down the beach. ‘Peleus told you that you couldn’t risk me, right? Fuck that, brother. Let’s get ’em! Think about the ones they’ve sold into slavery – think about whoever they catch tomorrow – all on our heads.’ She glared at him. ‘You’re afraid I’ll be raped? Fuck that. You’re as pretty as I am.’
‘No!’ Satyrus said, a little too loudly.
‘Are you afraid, brother?’ she shot back, and she said it so loud that every man left on the beach could hear her.
‘Fuck off, sister. We’re running!’ Satyrus was up the plank in three long strides.
Peleus pulled Melitta up behind him and then kept her hand pinned in his. ‘If you were a man, I’d beat your fucking head against the steering post,’ he said. His face was red. ‘Dare to question the officers?’ he asked with murderous quiet.
Angry men did not intimidate Melitta. ‘Only when they make bad decisions, Peleus. Those are pirates. We should kill them.’
‘You may yet get your wish,’ Peleus said. ‘If you want to impress me, you’re going about it the wrong way, girl. Now get to your station. Not with the archers, missy!’ She went sullenly to the amidships awning with Dorcus, glaring at every man in sight.
‘You should discipline her,’ Peleus said.
‘You first,’ Satyrus said, and drew a quick half-smile. And then the half-deckers and the sailing crew were pushing on the stern and the Lotus hissed down the last of the shingle and her stern bumped the beach again, causing a little restrained chaos among the rowers for two strokes, and then they were clear of the beach, and Lotus’s bow was cutting the breakers, the bow-ram showing copper-red on the rise in the red morning sun.
‘Left one of the cauldrons’ the sailing master said, pointing at the beach.
‘We’ll get it next time. If we live. Poseidon, stand with us,’ Peleus said, and he tipped a phiale of red wine into the sea.
The pirates came around the last point – two black ships crammed with men. Both were the size of the Golden Lotus, one a trireme of the old Athenian pattern and the other a heavy Phoenician, and as soon as they saw their prey afloat they sprang forward, their oar masters calling for the fighting stroke and getting it with a speed that showed that these crews knew their business.
‘Nope,’ Peleus said, looking astern. ‘We don’t want a piece of that, boy. Steady on that tiller. We’re heavier with our cargo, and they’ve got weed and those hulls haven’t seen a drying shed in years. This’ll be close.’
‘Should you be at the tiller, helmsman?’ Satyrus asked.
Peleus shook his head with his half-smile. ‘No. You can handle it.’ The old man rubbed his beard for several breaths and then pointed aloft. ‘Get me the boatsail, you bastards,’ he called, and the deck crew sprang to their stations – they already had the sail spread on the deck. Satyrus couldn’t help but notice that Agathon had led the men in putting the sail out – trying to make up for his lapse.
Satyrus felt the change under his hand before they had the whole sail aloft – Lotus’s stern rose as the boatsail pressed her ram-bow deeper in the waves, but she also sprang forward. Steering became easier as speed increased – a big ship like Lotus went straight very easily at speed.
They’d cleared the beach with just the lower bank manned, but now Peleus ordered all the banks manned, and they pulled easily, supporting the sailing speed and adding to it. Then the helmsman came back to the stern and stood with his thumb covering the enemy.
‘Just even,’ he said. ‘Just want to tell you, Navarch – if we dump the hides, we’ll run away from them in an hour.’
Satyrus shook his head. ‘Would you?’
Peleus scratched his beard. ‘Probably not. Not yet, anyway.’
‘Fair enough,’ Satyrus said. ‘No, we’ll-’
There was a crash from aft and a spear the size of a boatsail mast shot by the stern. Satyrus ducked – he couldn’t help himself.
‘Shit,’ Peleus said. ‘One of those new-fangled engines. Where the fuck do a pair of Cypriot bum-boys get an Ares engine?’
They lost ground because the rowers were as confused as Satyrus. The black ships gained steadily, and then the engine fired again. This time, Satyrus had the time to see the whole flight of the lance – it vanished in the waves well to starboard of the stern.
‘Now I’d dump the hides,’ Peleus said. ‘If he gets a bargepole into our rowers, we’re dead.’ He was watching the sea. ‘Good time for a chance Rhodian patrol,’ he said under his breath. ‘Usually a ship out this way. Or off the beach round the point. It was my station, once.’
Satyrus felt curiously light. He shook his head. ‘Poseidon stand with us,’ he said. ‘We can do it.’ Akrotirion promontory was close, just a dozen stades away on the starboard bow, and Satyrus knew that the moment they weathered the point they’d have deep water in the bay and a wind change.
One of the engines fired with a wooden crash that was audible over the water and the lance flew true, straight on for the Lotus but aimed too high, so that the whole shaft passed down the main deck, missed the mast and vanished ahead of them.
‘Get me Timoleon,’ Peleus called. In seconds, the archer-captain was standing with them. Peleus waved astern. ‘Can you hit the men on the engine?’
Timoleon shook his head. ‘Only if Apollo draws my bow,’ he said, but without any further complaints, he took a shaft from his belt and drew it until the bronze head was on his fingers before he loosed.
Satyrus lost the flight in the rising sun, but Peleus shook his head. ‘Well short.’
The engine in the bow of the Phoenician fired, but the bolt went short, fired at the wrong moment as the bow swung with the waves. They were coming in with the shore at a rapid pace as both sides tried to weather the point as close as possible.
‘Put the starboard oars right in the surf, boy!’ Peleus said. ‘There’s more water there than you think. Shave it close!’ To the archer, he said, ‘Try again.’
This time, Timoleon waited for the height of the rise of the waves under the stern and he drew so far that the head almost dropped off his thumb before he loosed. Again, Satyrus couldn’t follow the flight of the arrow.
‘Better,’ Peleus said.
‘Shoot these,’ Melitta said. She ignored Peleus’s look of anger. ‘Sakje flight arrows. Cane shafts. Allow for the wind – they don’t weigh anything and they’ll blow around.’
Timoleon picked one up – a hand-breadth longer than his longest arrow, made of swamp cane with iron needle points. ‘Nasty,’ he said. He grinned at Melitta. ‘Thanks, despoina.’
Melitta smiled at him. ‘Poison,’ she said.
Timoleon’s hand froze in the process of reaching for the point. ‘Fucking Scythians,’ he said respectfully and drew the shaft across his thumb. He pulled the shaft to the head and loosed at the top of the roll.
Even Satyrus saw the eddy of disturbance in the bow of the pirate. ‘Good shot!’ he shouted.
Timoleon beamed. ‘Apollo held my hand,’ he said. ‘Never shot so far in all my life.’ He nodded to Melitta. ‘Thanks, despoina. Care to have a go?’
She shrugged. ‘I could never get an arrow that far,’ she admitted.
The lighter of the pirates now thrust ahead, but they didn’t fire their engine. As the promontory grew to fill the horizon, their own archers fired, and with the sea breeze behind them, their arrows carried easily. One oarsmen was pinked, the broad bronze head of the arrow slicing his back.
Timoleon returned fire, but he used up Melitta’s supply of cane arrows without scoring another hit, each arrow blown to the right or left as if made of feathers. Melitta watched with a look Satyrus knew well – a look that said that she could have done better.